Under The Palm Tree
by Lipush
Summary: Ziva's pregnancy is revealed before their final goodbye. A Tiva post-11x02 story, rated high-T
1. Chapter 1: A storm coming

**A/N-** **Hello everyone. So, this is my new NCIS T/Z fic. You'll probably get from the first chapter the direction in which I'm going to take this, but let me just say that it is going to be a bumpy ride. So keep yourselves buckled.**

 **This fanfic is going to be soaked with romance, flashbacks, and love. But also angst and hurt/comfort.**

 **I write it down now as more of a therapy. My family just entered 'Shiva' today, as my grandfather, a great and righteous man, passed away on us this morning, at the blessed and full age of 98 years. While I cried, I felt no pain of anguish, since I know he lived on a full life of health and happiness, and he didn't suffer. He chose to leave us in the same way he lived. With serenity, peace, and modesty.**

 **While I take my time to grieve, I also using the time to cope in other ways, one of which is writing. I took the time away from my usual angsty stuff, to focus on love and new life. Which is what I need right now.**

 **I'll very much appreciate good reviews as well as criticizing ones. I'm not abandoning "Scorched Earth", which I'm going to update sometime in the next couple of weeks.**

 **So here you have it. Chapter one out of... many.**

* * *

 **Under the Palm Tree**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

 **Yavni'el Valley, Israel**

 **Late 2013**

Anthony DiNozzo the second glances out the window, taking in the line of olive-trees, faraway in the distance.

Right behind those, stands proud a tall palm tree, foreign to the environment, just like him, yet stable and somewhat comforting to watch.

He needs that reassurance right now. A spark. Even a miracle.

A warm, soft hand touches his lower back from behind, and he turns around, taking in the teary eyes looking at him with an almost desperation.

His hands find their way to her curls, as hers find his cheeks, which are now perfectly shaved. He craves to touch her everywhere, just like the night before, to take and mark and devour her fully, with love and possession and everything in him.

Her hand leaves his cheek, only to curl into a fist around his shirt, and she's slightly trembling.

"We're going to be okay, Tony," she whispers to him, leaning in to touch her forehead to his, just like hours before.

He shakes his head. She knows better than to lie like this. She basically forces him away from her, from what there could have been, forcing him to live in a "if only" from now to the unforeseen future. How could it possibly be considered 'Okay'?

He wants to ask her for the umpteenth time to not let him do this, to not leave her. To take her home with him… but he knows it's not going to happen, she made up her mind and there's no running away from this.

The flight leaves in four and a half hours. And unless a miracle happens, they're to be separated, probably for good.

Ziva releases a sigh. She doesn't claim his lips now, as she did yesterday, or the day before. She releases her hold on his shirt, caresses him with a tender, yet deeply saddened look.

"Come, let's eat something before you leave," she says softly, turning towards the kitchen, "You must be hungry."

* * *

The stuffed peppers are usually delicious, like everything else she makes (he just recently found out how natural Ziva is around the kitchen), but today, they're tasteless and dry in his mouth.

His Ziva, always the observant one, notices his lack of enthusiasm, but doesn't comment on it. She plays with her own fork for a minute, but then just lets it rest on the plate. Exhaling, she stand up, the wooden chair creaks slightly at her movement. She approaches him, and picks his untouched plate. "Let me," she shakes her head at him, and he nods wordlessly.

As she turns to the sink, he shuts his eyes closed, waiting silently for her return to the table.

Seconds, or minutes, or years later, her seat stays vacant, and he titles his head, catching on the faded noise of the kitchen-television.

He stands up, to enter the kitchen, and it is where he catches her, her back to him, arms folded on her chest, eyes fixed on the small screen, where a weather-lady points out on the map behind her.

Hearing his footsteps, Ziva turns around, offering Tony a meaningless look.

"They say there's a storm coming," she murmurs.

* * *

The storm is just above Greece, headed east towards Turkey. It's funny, usually those kinds of weather changes are foreseen, but for some reason, it's not the case today.

All flights of the next three days are cancelled due to the storm, they say. Tony blinks at the news. Is that's the universe telling him that he's not forgotten? A message, telling him to take a huge U-turn from his plans?

When hearing the new instructions, Ziva's shoulders visibly sag. Emotions collide within her, relief and disappointment battle each other, but exhaustion wins over them both.

He approaches her from behind, circling his arms around her stomach, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her strawberry shampoo. He's relieved when his affection is answered, as she returns his half-hug, but shakes her head nonetheless, "We're just buying more time," she mutters, "We both know it needs to end."

"I know," he says to her, face still buried in her curls, "But it won't be tonight."

* * *

The window is opened; the spring breeze brings in the soft scent of olives and fruits. He carries her back into the bedroom, both stark-naked. The moonlight is reflected in her eyes, and God, he thinks, if she isn't the most beautiful creature to ever cross his path.

Her mocha skin is silk and butter under his greedy hands, her curves perfect and feminine, and her excitement well felt. He touches her everywhere, from back to hipbone, neck to arms. Her breasts are like made for his palms, her body in full sync with his own.

He lays her softly on the mattress; her hair spreads on the pillow like a mahogany crown. She mumbles her sorrows and emotions and fears to him as he takes her again, making love to her slowly, thoroughly.

He just bought himself some time. Time to spend and love and cherish her a bit more. But won't it be even more painful when he'll be finally have to leave?

He begs the universe, just before climaxing along with her, to send him another sign, another miracle, to make both him and her finally see that they should never be separated again. That this, them, is the right and only acceptable future.

His prayers are about to be answered.

* * *

It takes another day for him to start noting the changes in her, and another two to seriously question them. Her mood swings drastically, she's more on alert, constantly feeling uncomfortable and sickly.

On the third day, when awakening, he hears her emptying her stomach in the toilet, but she refuses to talk or refers to her physical or emotional condition.

It is in the fourth morning, on the day they finally announce the safe-flights-zone, that he walks into the bathroom to find her staring at the mirror, eyes red and puffy from tears.

"Ziva?" he asks her softy, taken aback when seeing her like this. Is she ok? She can't be sick again, can she?

Ziva jumps slightly, Tony pulled her from somewhat of an inner trance, it seems, and she slowly turns around, to offer him a fearful, weeping glance.

"What's wrong?" he approaches her slowly, heart beating faster, "you ok?"

Her chin quivers and eyes tearing all over again, which puts him higher on alert. What can possibly be wrong with her now?

"Tony…" she cracks out, blinking at him. It's when he catches the small, white stick in her right hand.

He needs to remind himself to breathe.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

 **Please leave your thoughts and reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2: Rule 15

**A/N-** **Wow. 700 views in less than a week. You guys are so amazing. I'd like to thank all those who review, favorite and follow.**

 **So, obviously, I thought about how this moment should go. Ziva and Tony facing the news of her pregnancy together, instead of her going through the motions alone. While some may imagine the moment as climatic, filled with passion and kisses, I really don't think that's the way it should go. This is a difficult and complicated path they're facing, and it requires team work and friendship, more than passionate love, at least at this point. They're facing a different dynamic, and should go at it carefully, the time for fluff will come later, the way I see it. You're welcome to express your opinions regarding this, and you may not like this way of facing the news, but I think it sticks to reality the best. Sorry if it doesn't answer some expectations.**

 **As I stated the previous chapter, this fic is going to be loaded with flashbacks. While I get the fact that it may tire you at times, I think it's necessary in understanding and building Ziva, as she tries to find her way to freedom.**

 **Most of these flashbacks are taken from real life situations. While I was never a Mossad combatant, I did serve in the Israeli army, and know the system quite well, so I'm not afraid of sinning to reality. I've been through 4 of the last wars of Israel as civilian and soldier, and like Ziva, I know the areas and demographic of the state of Israel like the back of my hand, since I grew up in those streets and fields.  
So while this is a work of fiction, let it be reality-fiction, if such a thing exists.**

 **I'm going to use Israeli terms and phrases in this fic on occasions, but they'll all be explained at the end of each chapter.**

 **Please take to mind that I'm no doctor or nurse, and any use of medical definitions or checkups in following chapters, will be taken from internet-information, so if I get some things wrong, please don't judge.**

 **And now, to the second chapter.**

* * *

 **Under the Palm Tree**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Rule 15**

When Tony was a young boy, his parents sent him off to a 3-week summer camp at North Carolina. Located high in the mountains, it offered a fresh breath of rare wilderness. One morning, Little Anthony climbed up a tree during a 'dare', and fell face down after a branch cracked broken under his weight.

He can still recall the blue sky above as he hit his back, and his struggle to breathe. The sudden lack of air, like his lungs could not get enough oxygen all of a sudden. The shock and surprise of this definitive moment.

The moment he sees the small, white stick held tightly in Ziva's fist, he's taken back to that moment, him lying on that humid ground, staring up in shock and confusion.

Pregnant.

She's pregnant.

He squints once, then just stares, somewhat dumbly.

 _How is that possible?_

Silly thought. He knows _how_ it's possible. Since that day in the olive grove, he toured her bedroom multiple times, a couple of them without protection. It didn't seem to bother Ziva at the time, since she wasn't in her ovulation days, so she said. But looking at the pregnancy-test in her palm, He realizes none of this matters, now.

He's not sure how to respond. How to feel.

A baby.

They're having a baby. Together.

Him and Ziva.

A _baby_.

Surely, he joked about possibly becoming a father one day (Mostly with McGee), anytime the topic of children started with occasional women, it made him run for the hills, but now… A child. With Ziva.

A sudden, unexplainable rush of excitement overtakes him, and he feels like a small child in a candy store. Though the feeling dims as soon as he sees the expression on Ziva's face.

Shock. Fear. Horror.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, and her teary eyes plead him to…what? To understand her, forgive her? To wake her up from this crazy, outrageous dream?

She wants to scream. A _baby_? How can this happen to them?! How is she supposed to take care of a baby, she can't even take care of herself?!

She came here looking for redemption, and instead got caught up in an unplanned pregnancy. And a heavy feeling fills her chest, abruptly.

She recognizes it, it's a rare and unwelcome feeling, one she's not used to, or can easily shake herself from.

Fear.

Fear in its purest form.

How can she be a good mother, when she's not even sure of being a good person? How can Tony prove himself to be a father any child needs, if they never talked or discussed this option, if they're not sure of their own current relationship?

Noticing her raging mind, Tony approaches her slowly, gently taking her hand, the one still holding onto the pregnancy-test, in his.

"Ziva," he whispers, "Ziva… look at me," he repeats, when she tries to evade his eyes.

"Ziva, please."

Slowly, she looks up at him, his glance is of something she's not used of encountering.

Determination.

He gently caresses her hair, the curve of her cheek. "It's ok…" he whispers, his own voice shaking. He needs her to see, to realize. He's still trying to take it all in, but of one thing he's certain.

 _"At lo levad."_

A small sob escapes her, and before she can help it, she lets herself fall into his arms, in a never before seen expression of need.

Between sobs, she whimpers the one thing he longed to hear for so long-

"Please, don't leave."

* * *

"I was wondering if I'll find you here." Tony says quietly, knowing she can hear him just fine from that distance.

It's noon. The sun's high and proud above their heads, the old palm tree offers a small, comforting shadow. Ziva's leaning on it in somewhat awe.

"This tree…" she says, turning around to face Tony, "Is about 90 years old," she touches the trunk once, glancing up, "It was here before we inherited this old farm, and will remain standing for generations after we're all gone…"

He narrows his eyes, tilting his head in curiosity at her words, "It's so old and wise, I thought," she shrugs once, sheepishly, "That maybe being close to it… will get me some answers, maybe."

He approaches her slowly, and she lets him. Turning around, she lets herself sink on the soft soil, he takes his position next to her, wants to be as close as possible.

She turns to face him, "What are we going to do, Tony?" she whispers, her forehead wrinkles in worry and concern.

"We're going to have a baby," he says in the tragic-teasing way of his.

She chuckles humorlessly, before glancing off to the distance. After a short pause, she turns to face him again, "I don't even know how to _do_ this…" she says, "I planned to come here to start a journey of finding my place. Finding peace. I'm not anywhere near that road, Tony!" she has to make him understand, "Any child of ours is going to be sucked into that path of darkness I'm so desperately trying to leave behind," he wants to protest, but she shushes him, "Seriously, Tony. I have no idea how to _not_ screw this up. I'm trying to find the right path, but I don't see that road, yet."

"Then let me help you look for it, together," he insists, and continues when he sees her shaking her head, "Ziva…" he sighs, "Your entire life you've tried to be this fierce, fearless ninja. And while you're great at it," he offers a half smile, relieved when she responds with one of her own, "You're also a flesh-and-blood person. And as you yourself said, it's not what you've dreamed of becoming. You wanted to be the ballerina. Little-Hannah-baker*. You've dreamt of family and friends and getting old with grandkids circling you, but you never even thought of voicing those dreams aloud, because of Eli or Orli or whoever that was, that taught you those dreams are not worth having. But they are." Ziva's eyes widen when hearing those words of honesty and wisdom, coming from his mouth. She's so used to the goofball-dork him, she tends to forget the sensitive, intelligence side keeps hidden so well.

"You came here to find redemption," he repeats, "And now we have this…" he rests his palm on her lower abdomen, and she follows his hand momentarily, before looking at him again, "Call it the call of the universe, of God, of whatever it is," but this," he pressures the place just a little, "Is no mistake. No coincidence. Yes, we may screw up, we probably will, along the way, but… let us walk this road together. We can do it."

Her glassy eyes blink at him, and for a sudden, blissful moment, the fear is gone, to be replaced by wonder, and… hope?

"We're going to have a baby?" she half asks, half wonders.

His lips curve into a goofy smile, "I guess we are." He says.

She nods once, considering. "Alright," she finally concludes, leaning in to touch her forehead to his.

They stay like this for multiple seconds, before he turns his head to offer a feathery kiss to her forehead. "Rule 15." He says quietly.

 _Always work as a team._

And she's taken back to that simplest, most basic rule.

* * *

 _"You're a TEAM!" Her menacing voice thundered furiously, "Start acting as such!"_

 _September of 2000. The heat unbearable, feet aching from blisters and bloody wounds, but Ziva doesn't dare on saying anything._

 _No one does._

 _It's the fourth week of basic training of the Caracal unit of the Israeli defense force. Ziva is one of the only soldiers in this mixed unit with previous military training, but that means nothing here._

 _Their commander passes each line, daring them to move or say anything out of place. They call her "dreadful Irina"**, and she earned that nickname fair and square. She's callous as she is beautiful, and she spares no one her wrath._

 _He long, thin blonde hair flips in the desert wing like devouring fire, making her seem more humane than she pretends to be, at the moment, but Ziva doesn't bother to comment on it._

 _The feeling of failure burns her bones with shame._

 _They failed. They failed their beret journey***, the entire unit, and they failed for not sticking together; for not coming to the aid of those who fell behind._

 _They failed. Which means she failed._

 _And failure is unacceptable in the world she comes from._

 _"You're a team!" Irina's voice shakes her tired body again, "One of you trails behind, you all try and help them! Wasn't I clear enough the first time?!" her face raddens, "Avigdor!" she calls one of the soldiers._

 _"Yes, Ma'am!" the young combatant straightens, trying to look stoic._

 _"Who was the last to cross through the middle stations?!" she all but barks._

 _"That'd be Cohen, Ma'am!" Avigdor answers._

 _"And why was she the last to cross that spot?!" she snaps._

 _"Soldier Cohen fell injured during the first station, Ma'am!" Avigdor answered, "She could not continue on her own."_

 _"And how many of you helped carrying her to the last station?" Irina hisses, and the soldier falls silent._

 _"How MANY?!"_

 _"Four, Ma'am!" he answers in somewhat acceptance._

 _Yes, four. Ziva, and three others of the unit. Out of a group of 36 combatants._

 _They trailed behind for the department's lack of teamwork._

 _And now, they failed the beret journey, because of it._

 _Ziva doesn't recall anyone ever failing the beret-journey. How can you fail the most basic drill of first training?_

 _What will her father say?_

 _Irina's wrath is well placed and she won't cut them any slack whatsoever, today._

 _"Pazatzta!" she roars at them._

 _Like on automat pressure, Ziva's body drops to the ground at the command. While they may have failed the beret-journey, they're still the best damn-unit this army has known, and there is no breather between training sessions._

 _"Drop! Crawl! Watch!" Ziva's body moves slickly towards its target like a lizard, "Aim!" she holds herself and the rifle steady in both hands._

 _"Fire!"_

* * *

Oh yes, in Gibbs' notebook that rule was marked 15, but in her military and Mossad training, that rule was before the first, and always the most important. She got her beret, after long and bloody efforts, but that sour taste of failure taught her a lot, that day.

Next to her, Tony takes her hand in his and whispers in her ear, "Let's go home."

* * *

 *** Little-Hannah-Baker, is a known children's song in Israel, about a little girl who tries to bake the Shabbat Challah, but instead burns it in the oven. In the song, little Hannah is described as a small, innocent and clumsy child, trying to figure her role in the family, hence the reference.**

 **** 'Dreadful Irina' is based on real life 'Dreadful Irina', the commander I used to have in the navy basic training. She was beautiful, yet callous, but thanks to her uncompromised way of getting things done, I learned about the importance of working together in the group of soldiers. I owe a lot of who I am to this woman.**

 ***** The Beret Journey, called _Masa Kumta_ in Hebrew, is a long journey in which soldiers are required to pass in order to receive their unit-beret. Like Ziva, I passed my own journey under the unbearable heat along with my fellow soldiers. Unlike Ziva, I passed my own.**


	3. Chapter 3: Shalom Aleichem

**A/N- Hello, my friends. Long time no see :)**

 **I'll start by saying, again- thank you so much for those who take the time to read, follow, and comment on the story. Reviews are a sign of appreciation, so thanks for taking the time to comment, and I will be very grateful if you keep that up.**

 **This is the third chapter, and it will touch a couple of issues. Let me just say, that I'll stretch a bit with the timeline, here. The story's current time is late 2013, but going back into certain chapters in season 10, some things didn't add up to me, so if you think that the timeline is a bit off, it would be about a month or so backwards, not longer, so I won't confuse you. For the story's flaw, let's just say that Eli's and Jacky's murder took place a bit earlier that year.**

 **For the second half of the story, I recommend you to open up another browser page, and enter youtube. There, search: _'Shalom Aleichem' by Elihana Elia_ , OR the acapella version by 3B4JHOY. Both versions are magnificent, IMO, and will give you the feeling of the melody mentioned in this episode. Try listening to it while reading.**

 **Shabbat Shalom.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Shalom Aleichem**

* * *

She stirs slowly, to the gentle feeling of him playing with her locks. Blinking slowly, she wakes to find him starring at her. Her lips curve in an almost shy smile, whispering a sleepy, "Hi."

"Good morning," he greets, and she notices he's holding a warm cup of tea. Their own farm-tea, mind you. Her special treat.

He's sitting on her side of the bed, and moves a bit to let her have her stretching-up space.

"How are you feeling?" he asks tenderly. He's so gentle lately; she's not used to that side of him yet. It'll take some time.

"Better," she emits. And she does. The morning sickness has subsided, but she still has to struggle with her weird cravings. Two days ago, she sent him off to bring her a Tunisian sandwich on 3AM, and yesterday it was pickles alongside cream-cheese. Poor Tony took it all with grace, though, and pampered her enough for a lifetime.

But today, they know, today is the day. The official beginning of their journey.

Ziva releases a sigh. Tony smiles again at her, and she takes a sip from the warm tea. Mhmm. Delicious as always.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she finally says, "I'll better go get arranged," she rests her mug on the bedside-shelf, removing the blanket, and he gets up, too.

"I'll leave you to it," and he silently leaves the room.

Twenty minutes later, Ziva is refreshed and ready to start the day. Just before exiting the bedroom, she offers a sided glance to the colander hanged on the wall. With a sad exhale, she finally steps out of the room.

* * *

The Beilinson Hospital is known to be one of the best medical centers in Israel, offering kind and exampled doctors, as well as the best technology used in the medical world.

Yet, as soon as they enter the gynecological department, Ziva feels the flutters in her stomach, which have nothing to do with her condition. Oh, the walls offer calming photos of glowing women in advanced stages of their pregnancy, and the waiting line offers an even more pastoral image of expecting families, but for some reason, it makes her even more nervous. Subconsciously, she reaches to grab Tony's fingers in hers, and he offers her much support.

Walking to the front desk with Tony in taw, Ziva gulps before facing the young woman at the reception. She seems way too young to be a doctor, but sure enough to be more than a secretary, but Ziva shrugs it off, "Boker Tov," she says in Hebrew, before adding something else quickly, that Tony doesn't catch. The young woman smiles at her, nods at Tony, then says in English, "Of course. Dr. Zisman will see you in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Ziva exhales nervously, before reaching for Tony again. They take their seat next to door number 3, and Tony tries to calm her down, noticing how agitated she really is. "It's ok, Ziva," he coos at her, "Just a normal checkup, nothing to be nervous about."

She nods distractingly, but a dozen thoughts go through her mind. What if it's just a false alarm? What if it's not and there's something wrong? What if she'll mess things up badly? So many possibilities.

"Ziva David?"

Her eyes dart forward and widen a bit. Tony nearly chuckles at that. "Yes?" she asks, bolting upward from her seat?

Door number 3 is opened, and Ziva finds herself facing a short, but a pleasant and friendly woman, "Hello, I'm Dr. Zisman," she greets, using perfect English. The receptionist must have alerted her of Tony's presense, "Please, come in- Ziva, Tony."

Taking another deep breath, Ziva and Tony enter the room, the door swings closed behind them.

The doctor's office is small, but not suffocating. A pleasant vanilla scent is well-felt, and the office is modern and new. On the one side, is the doctor's work-desk, on the other, a single hospital bed, next to it, Ziva guesses a device used for Ultrasound and regular pregnancy check-ups.

"Take a seat," The Dr. offers, and they do. "Can I offer you anything? Water? Butter-cookies?" she smiles at them, and without even realizing it, Ziva loses some of her nervousness. The Doctor has an aura of kindness which she just can't explain. "No, thank you," Ziva answers, and offers a soft smile of her own.

"Alright," The doctor says, before taking her own seat in-front of the table. "So, let me start by introducing myself; my name is Dr. Einat Zisman. I've been working at this department for the last 15 years. I'll be your doctor for this long, but very satisfying journey…" Tony immediately likes her attitude, "I get this is your first pregnancy?" she asks.

They both just nod.

"Well," her smile broadens, "So I guess you must be anxious and full of questions, I'll try to answer them all in our upcoming meetings." She then addresses Ziva, "First pregnancies are always filled with uncertainty and fear, so don't be afraid to ask even the silliest questions. Remember, Ziva, that I'm here for you all the way to labor, to answer your questions, make sure both you and your baby are healthy and well-developed, and to help and create a safe and complete family, alright?"

Ziva nods, "Thank you." She offers nothing more.

"Very well," Doctor Zisman flips over a folder, "We will meet regularly once a month for now, for regular and irregular checkups, to make sure your baby's development is normal and that your pregnancy is not under any kind of risks. Do you happen to know of any diseases which run in the family?" she puts on her glasses to go over the folder.

"Uhhh…" Ziva considers, "My great-aunt died of lung disease, and we all had the Chicken-pox, but other than that, nothing I can recall…" Seriously, Ziva doesn't even remember having a cold in the last couple of years.

"Alright," The kind doctor says, "When was your last menstrual cycle?"

"About… two months ago? Give or take?" Ziva tries to calculate.

Dr. Zisman nods. "Ok…" she slowly said, "For today, I want to start by having an early ultrasound exam. This will help us determine your conception and due date, and see how if your placenta is located above your cervix or not… We will take the first look at your baby, and hopefully hear a pulse." At that, something sparkles in Ziva's eyes. "Since it's very early in the pregnancy, we will use a vaginal probe for this checkups," Ziva crings at that. This doesn't sound pleasant at all. "It will be needed for the first stage of pregnancy, but don't worry, it's not painful or dangerous. However, it may feel a little awkward for some women. Do you feel comfortable enough for Tony to stay in the room for this checkup?" she asks considerably.

Turning to look at him, she finds him uncharacteristically quiet. She reads him quite well, though. He doesn't want to hover or pressure her, her sweet man-child; But considering the fact that he already saw her naked too many times to kind, there is no real need for modesty now. "He'll stay." She concludes shortly.

Tony sighs in gratitude.

"Very well." Dr. Zisman says, "I'll need for you to take off your underclothing, and lay on the bed," she rises from behind the desk toward the sided room, and Ziva follows the instructions. The device beeps to life and the doctor grab two small tools. One of them, shaped as a small plastic tube, the other, a vaginal transducer. A little gel-box also finds its way to her hands (now in gloves), and it's another minute (where Tony stays by her side and she thinks of everything but her naked lower half) before she feels a small, but uncomfortable pressure in her vagina, and Dr. Zisman mumbles, "Sorry, it'll get less tense in a second," and true to her word, it does. Ziva relaxes on the table. The Tube is inside her body, but oddly enough, the movement are not painful anymore, and The doctor's eyes are fixed on the screen next to her.

"Oh, very well," she smiles, "We determine a positive pregnancy, one fetus, 9 weeks along," next to her, Tony beams, holding her hand tightly in his. Ziva smiles slightly at his enthusiasm, turns to head to look at the screen, but sees nothing but black-and-white smudges. Nothing of a real shape, yet.

She's slightly disappointed.

Noticing it, Dr. Zisman smiles, "It's way too early for the embryo to develop to a noticeable shape, but I'm happy to see that your placenta is located normally, cervix is fine… All in all, a very good and normal pregnancy. Congratulations, Ziva and Tony."

"Did you hear that, Sweetcheaks?" Tony calls in glee, "Everything's ok."

On the bed, Ziva releases a sigh of relief. Well, at least that. There's the smudgy image, the Doctor's words… and yet…

"Now… let's see if we can…" she reaches for the other side of the device, and presses s button.

At first, none of them catches why her smile suddenly broadens. All they hear is the doctor's small movement, but then…

 _Whoosh…whoosh…whoosh…whoosh…_

Small, repetitive noise. Repeating, comforting, lulling.

Is that…?

"That's your baby's heartbeat." Dr. Zisman reveals; and oh, this is when it finally kicks in. This whole situation. Her words, the images, those were all tiny pictures and words, but this… _this_ …

 _Whoosh-whoosh…whoosh-whoosh…whoosh…whoosh…_

This is what makes it real. Their baby just offered a first sign of life. A pulse. A heartbeat. There's a tiny, innocent life developing inside of her, and it's completely depended on her.

She cannot fail in this mission.

Next to her, Tony squeezes her hand reassuringly, his teary eyes mirroring her own. Softly, ziva whispers, overwhelmed, "We're going to have a baby."

Unnoticed by them, Dr. Zisman wipes a teary eye herself.

* * *

It is another day in their small household, Weekend. Ziva is unnaturally quiet. And Tony takes in her odd mood wordlessly.

It's few hours later when he has to ask, "Is everything ok, Ziva?"

They're standing in the kitchen, and she faces the window, glancing outside. She seems considering, if to tell him what's on her mind, and she finally surrenders, and mumbles, "It's the fifth of Tammuz*."

Blinking at her curiously, it's obvious he has no clue about what it means. Releasing a soft sigh, she lets in, "It is exactly one year, yesterday… Since my father died. I was supposed to set an _Azkara_ ** yesterday."

Oh.

 _Oh._

So that's what it is about.

Ziva's still reluctant to really open up about the events of that tragic night, even now, months later. That day Eli David and Jackie Vance were shot dead, while having a peaceful Shabbat dinner.

And that's when he gets it, "You were supposed to set the memorial service yesterday?" he blinks, "then why didn't we go to the cemetery? We could have offered a small service-"

"Without a _Minyan_ ***, Tony?" she groans and turns to face him, "I couldn't do that, it's disrespectful. And I wouldn't want to have strangers praying over his gravestone, people he didn't know. I just…" she pauses, "You and I both know we…didn't get along," she gulps loudly, "But in his own way, he tried to make peace with me… and he was murdered before I got the chance to set things right… And a year later, I disappoint him again. It's just… it feels wrong, somehow." She lowers her head, "I know it sound stupid… I was never a religious person, but _that_ …-" another sigh.

-" _That_ is not stupid," Tony approaches her slowly, needs her to realize it's really not. Her recalls that night perfectly. Ziva's father, alongside Jackie, an innocent victim caught in the crossfire, two victims of hate and greed of one callous man. It's not the kind of flesh wound to heal from one minute to another.

"We're about to start out own family," Ziva raises her head to look at him, "And It just reminded me of…family, in general. The one I lost…" she looks around, "And it is my father's house…" she chuckles humorlessly.

Tony thinks, and after a second, tilts his head, "It is also a Friday night." He blinks at her.

She nods, "It is."

"Isn't it like… a special night for you? I thought you mentioned a Shabbat service last year…" he says, "Maybe we can settle one tonight. You know, if you couldn't honor him yesterday, and clearly it bothers you. Maybe we can have a little service here. You know, to respect your family… like you tried doing a year ago."

She's deeply touched by his words, but doesn't dare telling him that it was a year ago when she turned her back on Eli. Instead, she says, "I didn't prepare the Shabbat service since I was nine…" she arches an eyebrow.

He shrugs," New tradition?"

This time, she _does_ chuckle.

* * *

She exists the bedroom, dressed in a soft, long white dress, and once again, Tony is captivated by her simple, yet astonishing beauty. She's with s simple headcover, in her right hand, a sole candle, who offers the room a gentle, worm light in the darkness.

Tony's dressed with dark long-sleeved shirt, and black pants. He stands next to the table, which is served with grilled chicken, potatoes and salad. Next to the dish, a Kosher wine, and two silver cups. Behind it, there's sweet Challah and fresh water.

The gentle puts the candle on the table, careful on the white tablecloth. Looking at Tony, they both smile at eachother. She reaches to the wooden closet, to pull out a prayer book. Tony searches around, but when finding nothing, he takes one of his napkins, and puts it awkwardly on his head. Ziva laughs.

Resting the book on the table, she closes her eyes, her hands quicken to cover her face, " _Blessed are You, Our God, King of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the candle of Holy Shabbat."_ She mumbles in Hebrew.

Removing her hands, she offers Tony a shy look, and he just smiles with patience.

"You know," she suddenly wears a different, faraway look, "My father, Jackie…. They passed away a year ago… I never mentioned or celebrated the Shabbat, not before their deaths, and surely not after. I couldn't even stand the thought. But maybe their presence is still somewhat with us… You know I don't believe in heaven or angels or those kind of nonsense. But if they're resting in someplace… it would have been nice to think as them as… ministering angels of sort…. Ones keeping our Shabbat table…. And…our child." She almost chuckles at her own pregnancy-stupidity, to think that. How silly.

But, Tony seems to get it, for some reason.

"Well, if they are, don't you think you should welcome them?" he asks, almost teasingly.

At that, she has to frown, "You don't…-" she starts, and he shrugs, "You're the one who just brought it up…" his eyes glisten mischievously.

"You _know_ I don't sing. _Ever_." She emphasizes.

Oh, he knows. But he loves hearing her voice. And he knows, one of the only thing he happen to really know about the subject, is that this melody means something for her, and that she needs to bring down the wall and let memory lane envelop her… if she wants to really start taking step to put the past behind her.

Her shoulders sag, and she opens the small book in the correct page, "Let the angels who keep our home and family appear and bless us, our family… our innocent child…" her voice shaken a bit at the end, and the house entire echos with her voice, when she starts softly enchanting in Hebrew, closing her eyes again.

"Shalom Aleichem, ministering angels…." Her voice is quivers a bit, but stabilizes slowly, "Angels of the most high…," she holds the book close to her chest, "From the king who reigns over all kings, The Holy one, Blessed-be-He…"

Tony just stands there, mesmerizing her, beneath her leashes, he can notice her eyes dancing, probably taken by nostalgia and memories, as this melody she more than knows by heart, "Come in peace, angels of peace," her hands spread upwards, yet her eyes stay closed, "…angels of the Most High… "From the king who reigns over all kings, The Holy one, Blessed-be-He…"

The wooden ceiling offers a deep echo to her voice, the candle's flame dances to her voice, "Bless me with peace, angels of peace, angels of the Most High…" her voice rises, and it seems like the entire farm is captivated in it, "From the king who reigns over all kings, The Holy one, Blessed-be-He…"

…"And May your departure be in peace, angels of peace, angels of the Most High," she opens her eyes again, to rest the book back on the table, From the king who reigns over all kings, The Holy one, Blessed-be-He…"

Blinking, she takes another minute to just glance at Tony, then the Table. She raises a silver cup, filled with Tirosh, then blesses-" And there was evening and there was morning, a sixth day, The heavens and the earth were finished, the whole host of them, And on the seventh day God completed his work that he had done, And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it, because in it he had rested from all his work that God had created to do, Blessed are you, our God, sovereign of the universe, Who creates the fruit of the vine.." she raises a hand, and takes a sip, while Tony fills his own cup. A minute later, they both sit, and Tony notices an aura of calm, and joy, enveloping her.

"Shabbat Shalom, Tony," she smiles at him, an honest, tired smile.

"Shabbat Shalom, Ziva." He answers her, silently offering his love.

* * *

 *** Tammuz is one of the 12 months of the Jewish calendar.**

 ** _** Azkara_ , literally- "recalling" in Hebrew, is an annual service for the dead. In Jewish tradition, family members rise to the grave, to pray over the deceased and remember them. This service must be done in a group of at least ten men.**

 ** _*** Minyan_ , literally means "Ten" in Hebrew, is the number of men needed for different public prayers, one of them the Kaddish for the deceased.**

 **I chose to name this chapter "Shalom Aleichem," ('Peace be upoon you') after the melody sung by Ziva. Check-out the youtube videos of the music while reading or re-reading it, it gives it much more meaning.**

 **I tend to go over in detail one Ziva's pregnancy and the Tiva romance, also the many bumps across the way (pure fluff won't be interesting without a little bit of angst, too), so, this will be it for now, till next time we meet.**

 **Reviews are love.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- Wow. I can't believe I'm actually posting this. It's been months. I'm so sorry.**

 **So, I planned so many things for this story , I should have known it's easier to plan it in your mind than it is writing it on paper; but this fic is my baby and I could not give it up.**

 **So even though I am super busy with my internship and studying, I'm updating this story again.**

 **I will, however, take a step back and focus on 'Chekhov's Gun', before fully diving back to this one. In fact, I won't be exaggerating when saying 'Chekhov's Gun' is probably the most important story I'll ever work on. Those who favorite and review my stories should check it out.**

 **This story is not sponsored or beta'd; so all original errors are mine. And since my natural language is Hebrew, I may mix things up every now and again (as you probably noticed). Apologies in advance.**

 **Reviews are my way of connecting with you, and they're much appreciated.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: A day In a life, part 1**

* * *

Tony read somewhere about couples' favorite sleeping positions. 'Spooning' was pushed down to the bottom of the list, God only knows why.

Waking up with Ziva's warm body pressed to his chest, inhaling the soft scent of strawberry shampoo, there's nowhere in the world he'll rather be.

She woke up to empty her stomach only once the other night, which is good, considering, and Tony felt like they're slowly heading back to routine.

This morning, however, it's his stomach to wake him up, once it senses the mouthwatering scent of scrambled eggs and baked muffins. Yum.

Ziva's side of the bed is empty. Huh. No more spooning for them this morning. Passing a hand over his messy bed-hair, Tony forced himself to get up and find his pregnant ninja.

Swaying through the hallway, he calls out, "Hey, Sweetcheeks! Maybe after breakfast we can go back to bed and..-" he comes to a halt when noticing Ziva's not alone in the kitchen. A short, curly, and small person stands right next to her.

"Oh, hell."

The woman scowls at him. "You're in your underwear, Anthony." She says with deep accent which sounds like a strange mixture of Romanian and Arabic. Dipped with disapproval, it's all the more troubling.

Smiling meaningfully, Ziva says, "Tony, you remember my aunt Netti," her expressions of 'be nice' in place, making him cringe.

"Ho… how could I forget?" Tony tries to not look overly horrified. He does. But it's not his fault. This woman has no barrier between her mouth and mind. So, he can admit it, their first encounter via cellphone wasn't exactly warm and traditional, but still. They've started off on the wrong foot, which is not entirely his fault.

Netta huffs, "So… you're the one who couldn't keep it in his pants, huh? Should have known."

See?!

"And you're still in your underwear. Not that I mind full view of young men every once in awhile, but I don't think it's appropriate with Ziva'le here. Go, put a shirt on, and then come here and have breakfast. Ziva needs to eat. You should take better care of your woman, boy."

With a growl, Tony turns back to the room to get dressed, and five minutes later he enters the kitchen again.

Taking a long look at him, from top to bottom, Netta nods once, pleased, and joins the two to the table.

So, she's a bit nosey, that's true, but she adores Ziva, and doesn't want her getting hurt.

Cutting a tomato in two before digging into her egg, Ziva says usefully, "Aunt Netti decided to drop by after I told her everything over the phone. You know, just to make sure we're ok."

Blinking, he offers the elderly woman a hesitant look. "Ah-huh."

Her eyes narrow, as she looks at him suspiciously. It's a test. It has to be.

She cuts through the awkward silence, "You plan to take responsibility over that child, Anthony?!" she gives him the "I-dare-you-to-say-the-wrong-answer" look.

"Of course!" he defends. What kind of man does she think he is? They may not sail off to the sunset anytime soon, but he did think she at least knows how serious he's about all of this.

"You plan on breaking the glass anytime soon?!"*

"Aunt Netti!" Ziva's eyes widen in horror. This is totally inappropriate. Not to mention embarrassing.

Frowning, tony examines his half-filled glass of orange-juice. It's not a fine crystal, but it's a pretty glass. Why would he want to…

 _Oh._

Gulping, Tony knows he needs to carefully manage his next words. "Right now, I'm just overjoyed knowing Ziva's here with me, and that's were together in this. We didn't talk or think about marriage yet. I know for sure that nothing will make me happier than marrying Ziva, but we're taking everything slow. One step at the time. We waited 8 years, we can wait a little longer."

Ziva's eyes glisten with happiness at his answer. Netta chews on her bread, offering a nod. He passed the test.

After a short pause of the three enjoying their breakfast, Netta suggest, "It's a sunny day outside. You should go for a walk, experience the outdoors a little. Look at her, Anthony, she's all pale. No self respecting Israeli-girl should have such a light skin."

Tony shrugs, and Ziva's eyes lit up. "Oh! There's a new restaurant that got recently opened in Tel Aviv! Maybe we could try it out?" she's practically bouncing in her chair in anticipation, "You know, make a day out of it?"

Tony doesn't mind in the least. When he agrees Aunt Netti grins at them, "See how lucky you two are to have me around?"

They stare.

"What?"

* * *

The drive to Tel Aviv gives Ziva the opportunity to open the window and enjoy the hot and fresh air. They part at Rotchiled Blvd. and walk the remaining distance toward their destination, occasionally stopping for fruit Juice and a sundress Ziva fell in love with. They find the place just in time for lunch. The new restaurant is known as "The Library", and it sure lives up to its name. Tony already feels deep in the geek-zone once they step inside, all waiters in suspenders and pathetically looking glasses. Not to mention, the endless bookshelves covering every corner of the restaurant.

Oddly enough though, the food proves itself to be delicious yet simple, and the two quite enjoy themselves.

It was a good idea, taking Ziva out of the farmhouse. She needs the warm breeze and sight of crowded streets.

"You're feeling ok, Sweetcheeks?" he makes sure, "I know you're happy you don't throw up as much as you used to, but you maybe should take it easy?" he asks when seeing her pouncing on her hamburger.

"Oh, afg-bfeeel-grrrrat!" she says with mouth half full. Damned be all manners, she's starving.

He laughs. She's adorable, "You know I meant it, though, right?" he says hesitantly, "Just because we never got to talk about it seriously, doesn't mean I'm not thinking about it. When the time comes, we will make everything official."

She gulps, then smiles, "Yes, I know what you mean. And don't feel overwhelmed by Aunt Netti. She has the tendency to speak her mind out without hesitation."

Tony chuckles, "It's ok…" he reassures, "I know she just looks out for you. And it's good that she does. She's family. I'd be more worried if…-"

He's about to finish his sentence when it all comes to a stop. A loud, bone chilling sound fills the restaurant suddenly. A sound which is strange and unfamiliar to Tony, but to Ziva is more familiar than her own name.

The sound of a siren going off.

They have to get out of there.

NOW.

* * *

 **TBC**

* * *

 *** It is known, that in Jewish weddings, the groom gives his final 'signature' to the marriage by breaking a glass placed by his foot (in reminder of the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem). We know Tony is not Jewish, but in an old traditional way, Netti's intention was to ask if and when Tony's going to propose.**


End file.
